


That's My Job

by orphan_account



Series: Flash Fiction from Baker Street [2]
Category: Incredible Hulk - All Media Types, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Anthea is totally a ninja, AvengeLock, Avengerlock, Crossover, Gen, Mycroft can even negotiate with SHIELD, and now i want Mycroft and Coulson in the same room, i have no excuses for this, i swear it just happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-06
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-09 07:14:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I hate to pull the cloak and dagger routine, but the Avengers Initiative was being less than cooperative in offering your assistance.”<br/>“You should know that…the other guy, he, well.  He isn’t for hire.”<br/>“I’m not in need of his particular brand of assistance, Dr. Banner,” John’s eyebrows rose.</i>
</p><p>In which Dr. John Watson meets Dr. Bruce Banner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's My Job

“What day is it?”

“Thursday.”

“The date.  What is the date?”  Silence.  “You can’t possibly tell me you—”

“No, I can’t possibly tell you.”

Silence.  “What…what do you mean?”

“I mean I can’t tell you that.  But it’s Thursday.  And it’s…morning here.”

“And here is?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“No, I didn’t think so.  How about a name, then?”

“You can call me Anthea.”

“Any chance that’s your real name?”

Her half-smile was answer enough.

“Right.  So I don’t suppose it’s worth mentioning that I work for—”

“The US government?  The DoD?  S.H.I.E.L.D.?  No, Dr. Banner, we’re well aware.”

“What are you, MI6?”

The derisive snort accompanied by a rapid-fire round of tapping on the keypad of her phone was a clear dismissal.

“Right.  I don’t suppose you’d have any—”

“Dr. Banner?”

He turned toward the door where a man stood with a heavily-laden tea tray.  There was something in his bearing that reminded Bruce strongly of Steve.  The short newcomer couldn’t have looked less like Captain Rogers if he tried, but there was something about the line of his shoulders and the firm set of his jaw.

“I don’t suppose you’d care for a cuppa?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you…”

“John.”

“I’ll leave you to it, Dr. Watson.”

“Thank you, Anthea,” the newcomer—Dr. John Watson?—nodded absently, setting the tray on the steel table in the center of the room.  “Decaf, I’m afraid, but the higher-ups weren’t sure…” John shrugged, pouring out two cups.  “How do you take it?”

“Black, two sugars.”

John’s hands paused for a brief moment, and Bruce was certain he’d seen the man’s lips twitch into a small smile.

“You geniuses and your sugary tea.  It’s a wonder you don’t all have false teeth by the age of forty.”

“So you _are_ that John Watson,” Bruce took a sip of his tea, studying Watson over the rim of his cup.

“Yes.”  John finally sat, taking the chair opposite Bruce.  “I hate to pull the cloak and dagger routine, but the Avengers Initiative was being less than cooperative in offering your assistance.”

“You should know that…the other guy, he, well.  He isn’t for hire.”

“I’m not in need of his particular brand of assistance, Dr. Banner,” John’s eyebrows rose.  “I’m told you’re good at finding things.”

“Depends on what you’re looking for.”

“A man.  You’ll never find him, but he’s being hunted.  And the hunter happens to possess what I have heard rather melodramatically described as a ‘doomsday device.’”

“It’s a rather commonplace phrase these days.”

“So I’ve been told.  I thought the Americans were exaggerating, but if a fellow like Moran can get his hands on one…” John shrugged.  “You’re an expert in gamma radiation, which is apparently the basis of the device.  I’d appreciate your help.  You can say no.  They’ll send you home, no questions asked.”

“They.”

“Do I really look like I belong here?”

Bruce looked him over.  Middle-aged, graying sandy hair, ill-fitting jeans and oatmeal colored jumper.  And yet…

“You look like a man who fits in where he needs to.”

John’s blue eyes widened.  “She said you were smart.”

“Anthea?”

"Hmm?  Oh, no.  Although, come to think of it, I'm sure they've met.  I'm talking about a redhead, rather handy with a semi-automatic.  Or a tire iron.  Or a shoe, really.  I think the name she's using now is Natasha.  She was using an alias last time I saw her.  Cut a rather fetching figure in desert camouflage.”

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

And there was that brief twitch at the corners of his mouth, again.  “Does it really matter?”

“No.”

“Will you help?”

“I won’t hurt anyone.”

“That’s fine, Dr. Banner.  That’s my job.”

**Author's Note:**

> It's my Avengerlock headcanon that John knows Clint and Natasha from his time in the RAMC. I make no other excuses for this ficlet; it was just an errant plot bunny that wouldn't let me alone.


End file.
